<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>if the world was ending (you'd come over, right?) by SummerFrost</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29967957">if the world was ending (you'd come over, right?)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SummerFrost/pseuds/SummerFrost'>SummerFrost</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst with a Happy Ending, BDSM, Barebacking, Biting, Breaking the Bed, Casual Sex, Cunnilingus, Death Threats, Edgeplay, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hair-pulling, Light Bondage, Mild Blood, Nipple Play, One Night Stands, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Phone Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Power Dynamics, Rough Sex, Stake Play, Temporarily Unrequited Love, Temporary Character Death, Virginity Roleplay, but like make it sexy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 02:48:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>19,749</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29967957</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SummerFrost/pseuds/SummerFrost</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"What did you think was gonna happen?" Buffy asks. "We were gonna, like, make love in a fucking Winnebago and if we both made it out we were gonna go for long walks on the beach and hold hands?"</i>
</p>
<p>Or: Buffy only sleeps with Spike when the world is ending.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Spike/Buffy Summers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>194</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>if the world was ending (you'd come over, right?)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So, like. I'm gonna be honest, I feel like this fic contains both more and less smut than you'd be expecting? And the other half is Feelings.</p>
<p>Much love to alittlebitmaybe, who beta'd and also listened to me talk about this thing for ages &lt;3</p>
<p>This fic was inspired by and is titled after If the World was Ending by JP Saxe and Julia Michaels.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Buffy throws open the door to Spike's crypt and commands, "Spike, wake up, we've gotta—"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"Bloody </span>
  </em>
  <span>hell!" Spike shouts, and Buffy gets a view of </span>
  <em>
    <span>way </span>
  </em>
  <span>more skin that she could even remotely wanna see before he manages to throw a blanket over his lap. "I thought we agreed to knocking."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His nipples are, like, weirdly perky. They're kind of—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy's eyes snap to his face. "Oh my God, we don't have time for this."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The face isn't helping. He's looking at her, like, all gooey and embarrassed like he keeps doing since she kissed him </span>
  <em>
    <span>one time, </span>
  </em>
  <span>which was stupid and a big mistake and oh, God, they don't have time for this either.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What's wrong?" Spike asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy's chest hurts just saying it. "Glory knows Dawn's the key."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At least Spike isn't looking at her like </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>anymore. The panic's only visible for a tiny part of a second, and she probably only notices because she's trying really, really hard to not look at his nipples again. If Buffy likes anything about Spike, which she pretty much doesn't, it's that he's good in a crisis.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He asks, "What's the plan?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We run," says Buffy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike hops to his feet, which dumps his blanket on the ground. "Right. I got time to pack a bag?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy's too caught off-balance to remember she should be looking away—thank God he's grabbing a pair of boxers off the floor. "You're not gonna argue with me?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Seems to me you've got the right of it," Spike says, and Buffy quickly looks up at the ceiling when he glances over at her. "You, me, an' Red couldn't put a dent in the bitch combined."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There's the sound of a belt buckle clacking. Buffy looks at him again; she can see the faint outline of his ribcage. "I had this whole fancy speech planned."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"If it makes you feel better, pet," Spike says, and Buffy's lip curls. "You can still give it."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What do you even need a bag for?" she asks instead. "You wear the same clothes every day."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike pauses with his shirt pulled half over his head, the collar caught on the bridge of his nose, and says defensively, "No, I don't! I've got three shirts."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I think that's actually sadder," Buffy tells him. "Hurry up."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Anyway, the bag's for weapons," Spike says, unlatching a wooden chest pointedly. "And books."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"Books," </span>
  </em>
  <span>Buffy repeats.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike puts a battle axe, then a crossbow, then a stack of crossbow bolts into a duffel bag. "I've got hobbies, Slayer, not that you've ever asked. Besides, what do you expect us to do all day while we're hiding out, braid each other's hair?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I mean, this is just an idea," Buffy says, "but I thought maybe we'd talk about how to try and not die?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Do us a favor, will you?" Spike asks, ignoring her. "I've got a pint of blood in the fridge I should drink before we go. Don't want the nibblet to start looking like lunch."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>God, Buffy hates him. She rolls her eyes, though, and considering the fact that part two of her favor is gonna require grand theft auto, pulls the deli container out of the mini fridge.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thanks to Willow's stupid spell from last year, Buffy remembers how he likes to drink it. She sticks the whole container in the microwave and punches in a guesstimate of how long this much blood at once would need.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There were a couple of hospital blood packets in the fridge, too, and a half gallon of milk—and, for some unknown reason Buffy prays to fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>God </span>
  </em>
  <span>isn't sexual, a can of whipped cream. She tosses the blood packets into his duffel from across the room—human blood's better for an emergency anyway, if he gets hurt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not that she would care.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then, because Buffy's getting a migraine from the sound of the shitty old microwave spinning around and also from the everything, she steals the whipped cream and sprays a bunch of it directly into her mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike's head snaps over at the sound and, ugh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Don't look at me like that," Buffy demands, which would probably sound more forceful if she wasn't actively trying to swallow the whipped cream at the same time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm not looking at you like anything," Spike lies. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The microwave beeps.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy sprays herself another mouthful of whipped cream and then grabs the deli container, which she walks over to Spike. He's pulling books off a shelf basically at random and chucking them into his bag.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Hurry up," she reminds him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah, yeah," Spike says. His fingers brush hers when he takes the container, which she's sure he did on purpose. His nail polish is redone from the last time she saw him. "Car's down the block—we can take the tunnels over. Where's the nibblet?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We're not going straight there," Buffy says. "We need a bigger ride."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What's wrong with—" Spike cuts off, rolling his eyes. "Oh, bloody hell, we're bringing all of them, are we?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy rolls her eyes back. "Of course we are. I'm not just leaving them all here to be Glory-food."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Hah," says Spike. "Glorified Glory-food."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy purses her lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He chugs down half of his blood; it stains his mouth a little—he licks up a drop with his tongue. "Don't suppose I can talk you out of the dead weight?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You know, by one definition," Buffy threatens pleasantly, </span>
  <em>
    <span>"you're </span>
  </em>
  <span>the dead weight."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Let's not get hasty now." Spike zips up the duffel, then slings it over his shoulder. "I've got an idea, but we'll need to take the car there."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I really hate that I'm saying this," Buffy tells him, "but fine. What's your idea?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I hate you," says Buffy, partly to Spike but also just the universe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She's holding a stupid blanket over Spike while he breaks into the stupid RV, and her skin feels like it's crawling. Not about the carjacking or anything, because in the grand scheme of things—whatever.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But she hates this feeling. Bullying Spike in his crypt or whatever didn't feel like she was being a coward. She was distracted. Now she's looking around this clearing like something scarier than her might jump out and she's worrying about Dawn back at Xander's and—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah, yeah," Spike mutters. "I'm in."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Taking one last glance around, Buffy quickly follows him inside and locks the door behind them. Spike is closing all the blinds, hissing when a patch of sunlight from a smaller window catches him on the hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy rolls her eyes and throws the blanket over him, then starts rifling through the kitchenette cabinets. She finds a half-used thingy of aluminum foil and a roll of Scotch tape, which will do for the rest of the windows. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"This place is grody," she says, wrinkling her nose. "I think this is mouse poop."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Why would mice live in a Winnebago, pet?" Spike asks, shaking out his hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"'Cause they wanna see the country?" Buffy suggests. She pouts at him. "Steal me a different one."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He actually looks like he's considering it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh my God," she says. "Just see if you can do the hotwire-y thingy."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Uh, a little help with the windshield?" Spike asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh, right." Buffy brandishes her tinfoil. "Sorry."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shrugs with one shoulder and pulls out a pack of cigarettes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Ugh," Buffy complains, brushing past him to get to the front of the van. "Don't smoke in here, it's gonna be all gross."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike says, "Not sure the smell can get any worse, love," but she doesn't hear his lighter clicking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blocking out all the windows is good. It's something to do, even if it is to help Spike. All the sunlight goes away and Buffy is left standing between two moldy seats in a weird haze of filtered light, the dust making her lungs itch. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At least she can't see it all floaty in the air anymore.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You're up," she tells Spike.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He's still got the unlit cigarette between his teeth. He nods at her and flips open a pocket knife, coming to sit in the driver's seat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Don't s'ppose they've got a screwdriver layin' about?" he asks, the words a little muffled around the cigarette.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy raises an eyebrow in response.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Right," says Spike, and rips off the steering wheel cover with his bare hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's not… </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>hot.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike pulls out some weird panel thingies, then starts messing around with a bunch of bundles of wires that he pulls out from inside the steering wheel.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The thing about Spike is that, if you ignore his personality and all the murder and stuff, he's obviously really hot. Like, that's just how it is. And he takes the cigarette out of his mouth and wets his bottom lip while he concentrates which reminds Buffy that he's actually a really good kisser, and the other thing about Spike is that he would actually, literally die for Buffy and more importantly Dawn.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike uses the pocket knife to start cutting through the plastic casing around one of the wires to get to the copper part. He did his hair in a rush while Buffy basically kicked him down the hole in his crypt into the sewers and there's a little baby piece up front that's curling up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's not like Buffy's actual friends wouldn't also die for Dawn, or at least think about it, except they all have souls and don't have cheekbones that Buffy wants to punch or maybe put her teeth on a little bit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Glory will kill him. She probably won't even bother with a stake or anything—she could just rip his head right off like a Barbie doll. (Buffy tried that once—not on Spike. She could almost do it.) And Glory will kill all of them, and what would you even do with that many bodies, anyway?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike wraps two of the coppery wires around each other and then touches a third wire to the place they meet—it sparks angrily and he says, </span>
  <em>
    <span>"Ow," </span>
  </em>
  <span>and sucks his thumb into his mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The thing about Buffy is—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Spike," she says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I know, I know." He waves her off with the knife. "I'm a little rusty, alright? It's been a while since I've had to do me one of these."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He touches the wires together again: they spark, but the engine doesn't start going.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Bugger."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Spike," Buffy says again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He finally looks up at her, a little annoyed at first—then his eyebrows do that soft-scrunchy thing they do sometimes, and he asks, "Buffy?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If the world's gonna end, there's not gonna be anyone around to blame her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy falls forward and lands against his mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike drops the knife and the cigarette; he puts a hand on her hip and hovers the other over the side of her face and kisses her back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy grips his jacket with both hands and hauls him to his feet. He stumbles a little, the momentum carrying them against the passenger seat, and presses down into her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Buff," he murmurs wondrously, his nose grazing her cheek. "You sure you—"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Shut up," she says, and pulls him towards the back of the camper, walking herself backwards and knocking into the kitchenette counter to get there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike is mouthing at her jaw and stepping on her feet in his hurry and—and shaking a little. "Are you sure we've got time to—"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We will if you shut up," Buffy tells him irritably, pulling away. She's backed up against the door now and the handle is digging into her back. "Seriously, what's wrong with you? Isn't this, like, your big stupid fantasy?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike's eyes are blue, which isn't a thing Buffy usually thinks about. He says, "Usually you actually want me."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy's throat is still all itchy from all the dust. She swallows, which doesn't help, and leans harder into the metal door handle, which does.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No one makes me do stuff I don't want," she says, which isn't a lie except in a way he doesn't care about.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nothing Buffy's done since she was fifteen has been what she really wanted. But he's so gagging for it that he's already getting kind of hard against her hip, and he's an even better kisser than she remembers even though his mouth still kinda tastes like blood, so they can both get the fuck over it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike kisses her again, his teeth tugging gently on her bottom lip. They both reach for the door handle at the same time and a laugh rumbles in his chest—he laces their fingers together and pins her hand to the wall.</span>
</p>
<p><span>It's like this: Buffy loved Riley. At least, the best she could, the way it could leave her mouth, and she wasn't faking it when she was fucking him. And she doesn't love Spike—not even a little. God, just </span><em><span>thinking </span></em><span>that makes her shudder, or maybe that's the way he's grinding his thigh against her clit. But her whole body is melting like that stupid face he makes</span> <span>and she doesn't have to </span><em><span>try. </span></em></p>
<p>
  <span>It'd be harder to not want it. Her panties are starting to feel sticky and she's throbbing down there, squirming against his body.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Is it a vamp thing? Spike kisses down her neck, dragging his blunt teeth against her pulse but catching her with a canine just a little, and, God, she doesn't wanna think about Angel right now but maybe there's just something really fucked up about her that makes this so good. Maybe it's whatever's in her blood.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy has a baby orgasm right there against the door, gasping and clutching at the back of his jacket so she can get the leverage she needs to ride it out. She's almost embarrassed, biting down hard on her lip and squeezing her eyes shut. Like it makes her more of a slut.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike chuckles, kissing and nipping at a spot on her neck that makes her toes curl, and murmurs, "We can do better than that, Slayer."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy fumbles for the door handle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They tumble into the back room—there's one of those folding beds that comes out of the wall. Buffy tries to tug it loose, but it's stuck and Spike has a hand up her shirt and he's massaging her breast while he bites at her earlobe, and she yanks so hard on the bed that there's a pop and then the sound of something metal flying across the room, and the whole thing smacks into the floor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oops," says Buffy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike tries to take her down to the mattress, but she tosses him onto it first. The springs creak under his weight and he grins devilishly up at her, all sprawled out and easy like it was his idea.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Knew you'd wanna be on top," he says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy tosses her jacket onto a chair and starts pulling her sweater over her head. "It's probably all moldy! I don't wanna touch it."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'll gladly make the sacrifice, love," Spike tells her. "If you let me take the rest off you."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy straddles him; his hands grip her hips and she slides both of hers up under his shirt, feeling the way his abs flex underneath her touch. She stops when she hits his chest and, feeling a little light-headed, pinches one of his nipples.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike's head tilts back, his mouth hung open in a moan. His hips twist underneath her, but she's sitting up too tall for him to get any friction.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy says, "Wow, you're really sensitive," and tugs harder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Should've—" Spike wriggles again. "Seen me in the seventies. Had 'em pierced."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That makes her mouth water a little. She doesn't wanna admit that, so she strips his shirt all the way off and bites down on the nipple she isn't rolling between her fingers instead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike </span>
  <em>
    <span>shouts. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He'd probably throw a normal girl off, bucking his hips like that, but Buffy giggles and gets him by the bicep so she can grind her hips down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's rough, through both their pairs of jeans, but Buffy likes that. She swirls her tongue over his nipple, soothing it, and he reaches up under her shirt to unhook her bra.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"God, Slayer," Spike breathes. "Gonna be the death of me."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Probably. Buffy kisses up his chest, baby blonde hairs tickling at her nose, and mouths at his collarbone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike pulls her undershirt and bra off in one go. He tosses them somewhere to the side, which would annoy her except now his hands are on her breasts, cool and rough and making her ribs feel warm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy kisses him again. Her hands drift down to his belt, tugging it free of the loops so she can unbuckle it. He pops open the button on her jeans at the same time and they both strip down to their underwear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Or…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Shit," Buffy mutters, yanking impatiently on his knotted laces. "Stupid boots."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You're wearing 'em too."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Mine have </span>
  <em>
    <span>zippers."</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eventually, anyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy chucks Spike's boots across the room vindictively; they smack into the wall with a thud. She crawls back onto the bed, which he rearranges himself on longways, and resettles over his hips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike is hard under her, a little warmer than the rest of him but still noticeably not-human. There's a little damp spot on his boxers that makes her stomach flutter for some reason.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He slides his hands up her thighs and nudges his fingers under the hem of her panties (and, ugh, thank God she decided to wear cute ones today) and says, "Wish we had more time—unwrap you nice and proper, get you dripping with it."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy's cheeks burn. No one's ever talked to her like that before. She wishes she hated it. "Shut up."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Been dreaming about getting my mouth on you since last year." Spike slips his whole hand under her panties, brushing through her curls, and rubs his fingers through the slick pooling just inside her. She shivers; he licks his lips. "Wondering how you taste."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Just fuck me," Buffy tells him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike pulls his hand free and sucks two fingers into his mouth. His eyes are hot, like he can see right through her, and his dick twitches underneath her like he's getting off on trying her on his tongue.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He probably is.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy keeps wanting to look away, but she's not sure where else she's supposed to look. She keeps eye contact as she slips out of her panties, dropping them on top of her boots so they don't touch the sticky floors; he lifts his hips and she tugs his boxers off and throws them wherever.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Hell," Spike tells her, dragging his teeth over his bottom lip. "Look at you. You're a vision, pet."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy doesn't say anything. His body's spread out underneath her, all lean muscle and sharp bones that make her teeth hurt to look at for too long. What's she supposed to say:</span>
  <em>
    <span> nice bones?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She braces one hand on his chest for balance and takes his dick in her other hand, lifting her hips so she can line herself up. There's no sheets on the bed or anything, and his fingers keep making this slipping sound against the bare mattress because he isn't using his hands for anything.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And what's he expect her to say about that:</span>
  <em>
    <span> touch me?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's a little hard to work him in, just for a little piece of a second, and then she's sighing with that pleasure-relief when he pops inside and she can feel the slide of it. She's so wet and his skin is cool and it makes her feel warm. Like she's really, really alive.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And it's like he's got permission again or something—he runs one hand down her spine, squeezing her butt, and the other tangles in her hair and pulls her down into a kiss.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy sucks on his bottom lip, tugging at it with her teeth. He doesn't taste like blood anymore, or she's just too used to it. She starts rolling her hips, slowly at first, and he rocks up to meet her, matching her pace.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike slides his hand up to her hip and digs his fingertips in. It's a little like his arms are wrapped around her—like he's holding her, and she's not taking him that deep or anything, but he's pulling on her hair pretty hard. Like he's not trying to hurt her but he knows she wouldn't bruise, anyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Buffy," he says. "God, Buffy."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She sits up, breaking their next kiss. The angle gets all sharp and ouchy for a second in that way that makes her almost wanna do it again on purpose, but he shifts his hips and it makes her breath stutter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike runs his hands up her ribs, knuckles grazing the underside of her breasts. She rides him like that, her thighs starting to burn and abs quivering and him drawing goosebumps down her sides and bucking up into her and—and just </span>
  <em>
    <span>looking. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sometimes he says her name.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sometimes she says </span>
  <em>
    <span>harder.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eventually the bed is squeaking so loud that she can't even tell when he's moaning, and, God, a hell-god is coming to kill them and she's bouncing on a vampire's dick so hard the whole trailer might actually be shaking and he fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>smiles </span>
  </em>
  <span>at her when she says she's close.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not like he's smug about it or anything, even, but like—like—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She wishes she could fuck him face-down. Like, his belly to the mattress and her hand holding him down by the neck and—and like she was the one with the dick. Parker wanted to fuck her that way and she wouldn't let him and she wondered for a week if that was why he never called her back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy falls forward instead, both of her hands gripping the edge of the mattress where it's slipping off the frame. Their temples knock together every time he slams up into her; she scrapes her teeth down the edge of his cheek, mouthing for his earlobe, and he bites down hard on the pulsepoint on her throat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She comes so hard the bedframe shatters.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The whole thing collapses and they roll off and hit the ground like the point is to go through the floor, too, and there's a cracking sound that Buffy thinks might be Spike's head on impact.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A human would probably be unconscious. Spike smirks up at her and runs his tongue over his teeth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He slipped out of her when they fell; he's hard and hot and wet, now, underneath her, because she was hot and wet and he was inside her and she can feel some of it trickling down her inner thigh. She can't believe he didn't come. She feels dizzy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Careful, love," Spike says, like the cat that ate the canary or whatever the expression is, and reaches underneath himself, arching his back. "Wouldn't wanna end up with one of these in the wrong place."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's part of the bed—a sharp piece of metal that must've snapped off a joint, maybe six inches long and thinner than one of her fingers. Thin enough to…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy plucks it from his hand and turns it over in hers. The afterglow is making her all shaky and hungry and he keeps </span>
  <em>
    <span>looking </span>
  </em>
  <span>at her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The thin edge of the metal is pressed against his throat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy blinks at it—at her hands, which are holding it. At the vulnerable bob of his bloodless throat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It'd take a little work, but she could take his head off. Probably two different ways. And he knows that, and his eyes are still black and a little blue and he's squirming underneath her like he wants to get back inside.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The friction against Buffy's clit makes her pussy throb. She digs the metal edge deeper into his skin and says, "You get off on it."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"So do you," he tells her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The metal is biting into Buffy's palms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike says, "Tell me why you can't do it."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy's nostrils flare. She says, "You're harmless. It'd be like killing a really annoying puppy."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Tell me the real reason."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I need you," she says. Her throat hurts. "You've gotta protect her."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike says, "I will. To dust."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy drops the metal piece to the side; it makes a sound she barely hears. There's a faint red mark on his neck and she drags her fingers down it like they can't decide what shape to make. He shudders and grips her hips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His thumbs rub over her hip bones. She parts her lips, breathing out softly, and guides him back inside her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike draws his knees up and rocks against her, his eyes searching her face. His hair's all ruffled on one side—the same as his eyebrow scar—and she wants to put her hands in it, but she can't like this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy leans down to kiss him. He moves a hand to her hair as soon as he can reach her—it's gonna be a disaster when this is over. God, she'll have to keep everyone out of this room. He snaps his hips and she moans into his mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah?" Spike murmurs. His hand turns into a fist. "Knew you'd like it rough. 'S how you feel it."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Shut up," she says. Her fingertips are numb.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Little hard to deny it," he tells her. "Don't worry, pet. I can take it better than the bed."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She bites his neck. Hard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He holds her there; she sinks her teeth in deeper and breathes through her nose and bruises her own knees with how forcefully she digs them into the floor so she can fuck him hard enough to make it go white behind her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn't like this with Riley. She was afraid she'd hurt him. Her body is better at it like this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Bet you could go for hours," Spike says. His hand strokes restlessly up her spine. "God, Buffy, wish we had—"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Are you gonna come?" she asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike says, "Thought maybe you'd want another first."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She wants to put something sharp back to his throat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'll get there," she says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike says, "Kiss me again."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy cups the side of his face; her fingertips brush against his hair, tickle the edge of his ear. Sometimes she can feel his hip digging sharply into her thigh. Sometimes he kisses her wrong—like they're not fucking on a disgusting linoleum floor because it's better than dying.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He'd die for her. He told her that part of her wanted it and he was the first person she told when Mom was sick and she never asked why he brought a fucking shotgun because she knew, and she told him anyway. She let him touch her between her shoulder blades even though he knows how to snap her neck. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Part of her must want it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hates him so much that she kisses him wrong, too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Buffy," he says. "Slayer."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Spike," she says, and of course. Of course he comes, and it sounds ugly. The noise tastes ugly in her mouth and she kisses him and fucks him the whole time because she wants to come too, and she tries to make his name sound like a bad thing again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her teeth hurt. Her voice cracks when her orgasm hits so hard that she bows her head, and she doesn't think there's a way she could say it that wouldn't get him off. He's getting soft in her and she hopes it hurts that she keeps fucking him anyway, except he keeps saying shit like </span>
  <em>
    <span>yeah, yeah, baby, ride it out, come for me, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and she closes her eyes and just…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His come is leaking out of her. Part of her wants to hate that, too, but mostly she kinda wants to shove two fingers into herself and come again while she's this wet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They've wasted enough time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy gets shakily to her feet, wincing when she goes vertical and the weird blood rush thing happens. She stumbles around Spike and picks her way through the metal bits all over the floor to get to the kitchenette, where she grabs a paper towel and cups it gingerly between her legs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hasn't done it without a condom since Angel. It seemed a lot more romantic back then.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ugh, everything's sore. She'll need a couple hours before she can fight again, probably—and judging by how Spike slinks over to her, he's feeling the same.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They're so fucking stupid.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike brackets her in against the counter, except it's more like he kinda flops against her and the counter's the only thing that keeps them vaguely upright. He presses these little baby kisses into her hair, like full-grown kisses would take too much effort, and his soft penis nudges against her hip.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not like he's trying to get hard again or anything—just in that way where they happen to be naked and he wants to hold her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy puts her hand up like she's gonna push him off, but then she's holding him back instead. She ditches the come-soaked paper towel and wraps the other arm around him too, and this is probably the stupidest part: it makes her bottom lip tremble.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fuck. Fuck, she's so stupid. Everything about this is—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We should go," she says, and she opens her eyes even though her cheek is smushed against his chest and she can't see his face. "And no touchy-stuff when we get the guys."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She feels him go tense, but then he stretches and cracks his neck when he pulls away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah, alright." He raises an eyebrow at her. "You'll want something done about the mess in the back, then?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Shit," says Buffy. "We… found it like that?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Not sure what could've done damage like that besides us, love," Spike says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"... Mice?" Buffy ventures.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He laughs, shaking his head at her with his eyebrows lifted, and suddenly she feels naked again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'll see if it goes back in the cabinet," she tells him. "Put your clothes on."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yes, mistress," Spike drawls, and he saunters back into the other room. There are bruises on his elbows, from the floor—and on his neck, from her mouth. His back's all cut up from landing on their bed-shrapnel.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His butt is annoyingly cute.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy sets her jaw and follows him into the back. She shimmies into her panties, which are sticky and damp, and throws on the rest of her clothes. Spike is sitting on the floor shirtless, lacing up his boots.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You know where we're headed?" he asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy is frowning at the shattered bedframe. "I was gonna figure it out on the way."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Gonna be my co-pilot, then?" Spike asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Like they're on some wacky family road trip to see the country. Except they can't see the country, because he's a vampire and they blacked out all the windows.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy says, "Maybe," and folds the bed up into the cabinet. The hinges or however it's supposed to work are broken, so she has to force it. The metal groans, but she's stronger.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It looks like there used to be, like, seatbelt-y straps that kept it upright while the doors were closed, but the metal buckles are missing. She probably did that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Ugh," she says. "Help me fix this."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike is picking up the broken pieces of the frame scattered around the room. He says, "Looks properly buggered. Bit like you, love."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She drops the bed to the ground to smack him, and his eyes are shining when he catches her by the wrist.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After she claws her way out of the ground, he looks at her the same way.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's even worse, maybe, because she knows he grieved her. He looks at her like she's the heaven they tore her out of and she wants to take it away from him. Because what she felt there was a lie, wasn't it? They weren't happy. They weren't safe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Will she get to go back now that she knows? Is it gonna be ruined like everything else?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And he keeps touching her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Just in little ways—like dabbing the blood off her knuckles, brushing her hair away from her face when he sits too close to her in the alley.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She thinks it'll stop when she tells him the truth—when he gets what they did to her. Now he just touches her like she's one of those big shimmering bubbles you can catch in your hands if you're careful enough. Like when she said the world was violent what she meant was: </span>
  <em>
    <span>prove me wrong.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It makes her wanna puke.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Sunnydale turns into one big Broadway musical from hell, he sings that he'll wait for her forever.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They're standing in his crypt, like a hundred candles flickering all around them, which is fucking stupid and obnoxious because when she walked in here to see if he knew anything there were literally just two lamps. And he's holding both her hands in his own.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She takes them away from him and demands, "What the hell was that?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike looks more embarrassed than when she walked in on him jerking off. He scoffs and said, "It was a song, Slayer. It's been going around, remember?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You'll </span>
  <em>
    <span>wait </span>
  </em>
  <span>for me?" Buffy repeats. The pitch of her voice goes higher and higher. "When I'm ready for </span>
  <em>
    <span>love again?"</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I never would've said it, alright?" Spike tells her, but he's looking at her like— "I know you need time. I'm not trying to—"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I don't need time!" Buffy snaps. Her heart feels sick, which is the most it's done for her in a long time. "There's no </span>
  <em>
    <span>when </span>
  </em>
  <span>I'll love you, Spike. I'll never love you."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike says, "In the camper—"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh my God." Buffy presses her knuckles into the side of her mouth. "What did you think was gonna happen? We were gonna, like, make love in a fucking Winnebago and if we both made it out we were gonna go for long walks on the beach and hold hands?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike clenches his jaw and looks away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"... Oh," says Buffy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He runs a hand through his hair, his nostrils flaring when he breathes. Why the fuck does he bother breathing?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I don't love you," Buffy tells him again. "And you don't love me."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike's eyes flash when he turns back to her. "I damn well do!"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You </span>
  <em>
    <span>can't. </span>
  </em>
  <span>You can't feel anything! You're just this—this dead, soulless, </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing." </span>
  </em>
  <span>Every word feels like she's coughing up the dirt again. "You should've stayed in the ground where they buried you."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hits her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She feels his jaw break under her knuckles when she hits him back. Then hits him a second time so she can split his lip, then tries to do it a third time too but suddenly there's all this blood in his mouth and she can't stomach it. The acid burns up her throat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stares at him, wide-eyed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike spits out a tooth and rasps, "Buffy. I…"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her cheek barely stings. Her knuckles might bruise.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Stay away from me," she warns, her voice shaking.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He saves her stupid life, smothering her smoking shirt under his palms, and then he disappears.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dawn takes it the hardest. She's the only one who takes it hard at all, actually, except maybe Tara, who says they hung out sometimes over the summer. Mostly when they were both with Dawn.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He'd promised he'd protect her until he died. He promised he'd wait.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Liar.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy gets over it like she gets over everything else. And she's glad, anyway, because she wanted him to go. She told him so.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She just… didn't think he'd listen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If she can drive her fucking obsessive vampire stalker away—if she can drive Giles away, too—she could probably make them all leave her, and then she'd get to be alone. She has dreams about it sometimes, and she wakes up crying and shaking which is better than waking up like nothing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She clings to Willow and Dawn, after the car accident, and they drag themselves out of it together a little at a time. It's the worst and best thing she's ever done.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy is starting to think they might all actually make it, before the gunshots.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She's packing a duffel bag with clothes and books for Dawn, who's waiting with Tara at the hospital—and money, in case she has to run. Her eyes are stinging, thinking about what Willow said to her at Rack's. How she </span>
  <em>
    <span>looked. </span>
  </em>
  <span>There's not much time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But there's a knock at the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy's head snaps up. Xander and Anya are supposed to be bringing Jonathan and Andrew to the Magic Box. It's not like they know anyone else.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She leaves the bag, kicking it under the bed, and makes her way down the stairs. Her free hand curls into a fist as she opens the door, just in case.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike says, "Hi, Buffy."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy's fingers uncurl. She opens her mouth but nothing comes out except this weird laugh that probably sounds like she's going fucking crazy, which she is.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Uh." Spike is wearing a blue shirt under his duster. He scuffs his boot against the threshold. "Can I… still?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy says, "You came back."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike says, "Yeah."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"How'd you know?" she asks, her voice kinda shaky. "Um, could you—did Dawn call you or something? About Willow."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike raises his eyebrows. "Uh, no one—I was just working through some stuff, figured it was time I—what's wrong with Red?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy kisses him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He takes a step and a half backwards, his foot tottering on the edge of the porch step, and wraps an arm around her waist.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Buffy," he says, pulling away. "There's something important we should—"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"There's no time," Buffy tells him, pursing her lips. "Willow, she's—I can't even…"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike moves both his hands to her shoulders. "Buff, what happened to Willow? Is she—"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy asks, "Have you ever seen, like, someone with all their skin peeled off?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He swallows like he's trying not to gag.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Me, too," says Buffy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Someone—" Spike breaks off. "She's…?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No, she—she's the one who—" Buffy shudders. "He almost killed Tara, and Willow went totally, I mean, there's not a word. I don't know if she's even in there anymore."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike shakes his head minutely, a muscle in his jaw jumping.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I don't think we can stop it," Buffy whispers. She looks down at the mud splattered on his boots. "I—I tried telling her Tara's alive, and she said it didn't matter. Um, she said… the world doesn't deserve her."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"So you're saying that's it, then?" Spike asks. He's not supposed to sound scared; it makes her throat feel hot. "Red's gonna take it all with her?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy looks up at him and jokes wetly, "Welcome back."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike cups the side of her face. He thumbs at her cheek—the same one he hit before he left—and murmurs, "Home sweet home."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She wraps her arms around his neck and pushes up into the kiss. His hands tighten in the back of her sweater and he starts to walk her backwards, but he freezes when her heels hit the threshold.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I never took it back," she tells him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike lifts her by the backs of her thighs; she wraps her legs around his waist and kisses him again, letting him carry her inside. They don't get that far—he flings the door shut and presses her up against it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy winces when the pain radiates up her collar bone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looks at her with alarm and, wetting his bottom lip, slides his hand up under her shirt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm fine," she says quickly, but his fingers are already cool against the bullet wound. "I'm…"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike's eyes are swimming as he searches her face. He says, "Shouldn't've left. Didn't help."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Shut up," Buffy says. She can't make it bite that much; she just sounds like a stupid brat. "It's not like you shot me."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Thought about it," he says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I know," she tells him. "It doesn't matter anymore. Nothing's gonna matter, okay, so just—will you just?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He kisses her jaw first. All the way across it, and then the corner of her mouth. Along her cheekbone and up to her temple, where he presses his nose into her hair and starts to rock his hips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It hurts her chest a little, but she can take it. And she can slide her fingers into his hair, which isn't all gelled like it normally is. It's grown out a little and it's softer, even though it's still all bleached. There's enough curl for her to tug on it and he sighs softly in her ear when she does.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy tries to undo his belt one-handed. He helps her, their hands knocking together, and tugs his jeans down just enough to get his dick out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then he's gotta put her down anyway, so she can get her pants off. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Damn it," she mutters, tugging them down her thighs. They're a little tight and she's rushing and he doesn't even help, the fucking jerk, because he's kissing her neck and rutting against her stomach through her shirt. "Can you, like, for two seconds?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No," he teases, but he hooks his fingers in the waistband of her panties and takes those off for her, which is the easy part. "You wanna find a bed or something?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy shakes her head. She takes his face in her hands and says, "Like this."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike lifts her again—gentler than before, which pisses her off even though it means it doesn't hurt this time. Or maybe because it doesn't. She bites his bottom lip when he pushes inside her with his breath shaking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fuck. She's a little dry—not enough foreplay, not enough time, even though she can feel herself getting wetter, and it still feels…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Buffy," he breathes. "Love."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Still?" she asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"God help me," he says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy presses her nose against the shell of his ear. She's letting him do most of the work, except for the way her whole core shakes to make it easier for him to hold her up. If she breathes too deeply her sternum hurts; she thinks she can feel the place the bullet was.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Xander and Anya didn't get married," she says. She's not sure why, except she thinks maybe he would wanna know before the world ends.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"They were engaged?" he asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy leans her head back against the door. "Oh. I thought—</span>
  <em>
    <span>oh. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Someone told you. Before…"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No," he says. She's so wet now—like, the kind of slick where it's all over him, and he must feel it because he starts fucking her harder. "I… fuck, Buffy."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Can you, um…" she tightens her hand in his hair. "Like, slower, but—deeper? I wore this—it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>ugly."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike asks, "When, love?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"At the—</span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Wedding," she says impatiently.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Thought there wasn't a wedding," he says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy nips at the shell of his ear. "There was half a wedding. Xander, um. He—</span>
  <em>
    <span>god, </span>
  </em>
  <span>do that again."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh." Spike rolls his hips just right and she makes this choked-up moan that should be really embarrassing, except he's grinning against her neck. "But Anya's not the one ending the world?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"She's a vengeance demon again," Buffy offers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Good for her," says Spike.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy says, "I'm close. Will you—"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah," he says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy kisses him with her legs tightening around his waist; his fingers dig into the place her thighs meet her ass and he hits that toe-curling spot inside her over and over until it feels like she'll melt right into nothing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She says, "Spike, </span>
  <em>
    <span>God," </span>
  </em>
  <span>and sobs a little, and hates that there's not another word for it, and sobs harder and claws at the back of his jacket with her eyes squeezed shut when he sobs too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When it's over, he doesn't put her down until he's carried her into the downstairs bathroom, and then he sinks to the floor with his head leaned back against the wall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy braces both of her hands against the sink and tries to catch her breath, which just makes her chest hurt harder. "Fuck."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I…" Spike trails off. "We…"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Gotta go," Buffy says. She bows over, pressing her forehead against the peeling laminate countertop. "We've gotta…"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Where?" he asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Um." Buffy feels a glob of something drip down her thigh. "Can you—Dawn's at the hospital with Tara. You should go there, I was gonna bring her stuff—I've gotta help Xander and Anya."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike gets to his feet. "I've got my car. Want a lift?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah." Buffy shuts her eyes. "Gimme a sec. The bag's in her room."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike says, "I'll get it," and squeezes her arm before he walks away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy takes a deep breath. She wets a hand towel and cleans herself up, facing away from the mirror, and then goes back for her clothes. Spike's waiting for her by the door, the duffel bag slung over his shoulder and his belt re-buckled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Been a while since I've driven there," Spike tells her. He quirks his lips when he holds the front door open. "Gonna be my co-pilot?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy's chest still hurts. She smiles back distantly and says, "Yeah."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They don't say anything on the drive. Buffy drums her fingertips on her knee and watches their dumb, pretty little town blur by through the rolled-down windows.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When they pull up at the Magic Box, a lump jumps into her throat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What were you gonna tell me?" she asks. It's probably their last chance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike reaches over, his lips gently parted, and tucks her hair behind her ear. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Doesn't matter anymore," he says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy presses her lips together and tells him, "But… maybe we'll make it."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'll tell you at the beach, then," he says. "Maybe we'll hold hands."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She slips out of the car and winces when her feet hit the pavement.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When she crawls out of the ground for the second time, the sun is rising. There's still something for the sun to rise over.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She finds Willow and Xander on the bluffs, crying and holding each other, and she drops to her knees with them and tries to cry too. She can only manage it a little, but that's pretty good for her these days.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Buffy," Willow sobs, pressing her face into Buffy's neck. "Buffy, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I know," Buffy soothes. She cards her fingers through Willow's red, red hair. "We're gonna make it better."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Is she really alive?" Willow asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy rests her chin on the top of Willow's head, making eye contact with Xander. He's bleeding. "She was still in surgery last night, but, um, they were saying—they were saying probably."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We can go see," Xander tells her. "Right?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy's not sure what they'll do if Tara didn't make it. The thought of it makes her—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah," she says. "We can go right now."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They find Tara in Critical Care. She's unconscious and she barely looks like herself, but they're not standing in the morgue.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dawn is sleeping in a chair. She flings herself at Buffy as soon as she wakes up, squeezing her so tightly it's like she's the one with Slayer strength.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Buffy," she says. "You're alive!"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh, that's where Buffy's tears are. She feels her shoulders shaking and Dawn's hair gets all wet where her face is buried in it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Are you… happy crying?" Dawn asks. Her voice is all small.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah," Buffy promises. She sniffles. "I am. I'm so sorry, Dawnie, this year…"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It's okay." Dawn pulls back enough to smile at her. "Or, it's gonna be, isn't it?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy smiles too, even though her lip is still quivering, and tucks her hair behind her ears. "Promise."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Spike, buddy," Xander says. "When'd you get back in town? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why'd </span>
  </em>
  <span>you get back in town?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy turns around and finds Spike standing in the doorway, holding a styrofoam cup in each hand and a bunch of shitty vending machine snacks tucked under one arm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Just in time to miss all the fun," he answers, but he's looking at Buffy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh, don't worry!" Anya says, brightly but strained. She's half-dragging Giles along with her, who looks pretty beaten up; Spike moves out of the way so they can limp into the room. "We haven't had any of that."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Xander says, "Anya!" at the same time Dawn says, "Giles!"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anya looks away stubbornly, but Giles is casting his eyes over the room; they land on Willow in the end, who's hunched over Tara's bedside holding the hand without the IV in it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Hello, all," he says tiredly. "I trust everything's sorted itself out, then?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Um," Dawn ventures. "No one died?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Giles says, "Jolly good," and collapses into her old chair.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That night, the breeze keeps fluttering her skirt and the sand is warm against Buffy's bare feet. They left their shoes on the pier and Spike has his jeans cuffed once above his ankles, and it's so weird to see him like that that part of Buffy thinks he isn't really there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"So," Buffy says. "Beach."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike hums and doesn't take the prompt. His hands are in his pockets.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hugs her jacket tighter around herself as they walk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Dunno how I'd even say it," he says eventually. "Make you believe me."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You could start with, like, words?" Buffy suggests helpfully.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Nah," Spike says, and socks her hard on the ribs—she yelps in shock. "Chip doesn't work on you anymore. Also, I've got a soul now."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy glares at him, rubbing at the sore spot. "Okay, you've </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>only proven one of those."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Second part of the proof's that I felt just awful about that," Spike says drily.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he looks—or, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>felt—</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Angel said his soul made him all tortured and broody for like a hundred years," Buffy says warily.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike says, "Angel's an overachiever. Turned my penance in after three months and got a B-minus."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy stops walking. She keeps waiting for him to, like, admit she's being Punk'd or whatever, or that it's a diversion to distract her from the fact that he can hit her now—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh, God, how long's he been able to hit her? The night he left—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You can—? But just me?" she asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nods.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy's voice goes tiny. "Is there—is there something wrong with me? Because of—"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No, Buffy," Spike promises quickly—he's so gentle about it that it sets her teeth on edge. "I, uh—I looked into it and, way I understand it, it's just a side-effect of Will's spell. It's not—you're still human, love, it's just the chip that's scrambled-like."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She swallows thickly. "I'm not a very good one."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You're better," he says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They're losing that last bit of light after sunset. The moon looks like a Cheshire cat grin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy says, "Say I believe you, about the other thing. How would you have even… I thought the only way was with that curse."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"So did I," Spike tells her. "'Til I went looking."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Looking. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Buffy turns to him now, her eyes wide. "You—on </span>
  <em>
    <span>purpose?"</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Well, yeah," he says. "It was for…"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The wind is making Buffy's ears burn from the cold. It's supposed to be warm here, today, and her bullet wound isn't supposed to still hurt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"For what?" she asks, even though she knows.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn't answer. Maybe because he knows she'll hate it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Spike," Buffy demands. "For </span>
  <em>
    <span>what?"</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Couldn't be less dead," he says, and wets his bottom lip when he glances out over the ocean. "Had to be something."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy's stomach turns. She asks, "How?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You don't wanna know," he says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her nostrils flare. "I'm telling you I do."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Don't want you to know," he says. He runs a hand through his hair, tugging harshly on it. "Shouldn't've told you. Shouldn't've come back."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And it's… </span>
  <em>
    <span>there. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Something in him that feels wrong—or off, at least. She couldn't say how, but she knows. The way his shoulders bunch, maybe, or it's that his nails are bare.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Just tell me what you did," Buffy says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It was trials, like." Spike digs his toes into the sand. "Kind you're not supposed to live through. Thought I wouldn't, half a dozen times or so, and then when it happened it was like this—this—is that enough?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy doesn't answer him. She watches the wind catch in his coat and asks, "And it was for me?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"God help me," he says. "It's always for you."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy's chest is all tight. She rubs at her bullet wound under the strap of her tank top and has this urge to dig her fingers into it that she only ignores because he's looking. He's not even facing her and he's looking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What the hell am I supposed to do with that?" she asks him wetly. "How am I—"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Nothing," he says, and he finally turns to her again. "Anything. Buffy, I shouldn't've told you. It's not right like this."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy's hands feel so stupid and useless. She picks at her jacket sleeves. "Do you wish you hadn't done it?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Do you?" Spike asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No," she says, pursing her lips. "I—I don't think so. It's just that, it—it's too much. I mean, I can't…"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You don't have to," he says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy says, "I've got Dawn, and—and Tara's gonna need a lot of help, and I'm not sure how I—"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You don't have to," Spike says again. "Buffy, I'll—"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Don't," she begs, "say you'll wait."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quietly, he asks, "Do you want me to go?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I don't know," Buffy says. "Not… far."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike nods quickly, looking down at his feet. "Uh, is Clem still in my crypt?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I think so," she says. "Um, I haven't really been…"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Guess I'll have a roommate," Spike says. He smiles a little, but she's not sure at what.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy says, "You'll save loads on rent."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah," Spike says. "If I start paying any."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sand doesn't feel warm anymore, even if Buffy shuffles her feet to run it through her toes. She glances back towards the pier and says, "I should get home."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah," Spike agrees. "Think I'll stay a bit—listen to the waves."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Um, okay." Buffy wraps her arms around herself. "... See you around, I guess?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nods.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy turns and walks away, squinting into the wind when it whips her hair around her face. She's about to look back when—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I did love you, you know," he calls, and she can't do it now. She stares down the beach, where some seagulls are running along the wet sand. "It's different, now—the kind you get with a soul. But it was still love. Some nights it feels like it was better."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe part of her will always hate him. Maybe part of him will always wanna hurt her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy keeps walking barefoot all the way home.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The summer is long. Tara moves back into the house while she recovers and Willow goes to England with Giles. Xander's crew gets moved over to the project to finish rebuilding Sunnydale High.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy patrols the construction site at night sometimes, just to make sure. The half-formed hallways look like giant bones, like something died and people-sized birds ate up all the good parts. She pretends it's the mayor, but she doesn't tell anybody that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Ooh, look," she says one night. "I'm pretty sure this is where you tried to kill me for the first time. Should we, like, carve our initials somewhere?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The old Spike would've thought it was funny.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This one goes through the dead-snake walls and doesn't come back for a week.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy slips a dagger out of her boot and leaves a cute little </span>
  <em>
    <span>BAS</span>
  </em>
  <span> on the unfinished floors, anyway.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Two patrols later, someone's scratched over the </span>
  <em>
    <span>A</span>
  </em>
  <span> and turned it into an </span>
  <em>
    <span>&amp;. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She keeps touching him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Especially after she saves him from The First. Cleaning the blood off his chest, re-bleaching his hair for him while his ribs are cracked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She knows that the Potentials all talk about it  and that some of them—most of them, maybe—don't like it. They're scared and Buffy wants to fuck the enemy. It's not a super soundproof house—except in the basement, where she moves him in because they should all be in one place and he's the only person who doesn't look at her like he's waiting for her to fail him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When the chip comes out, she sits there with his head in her lap and her fingers carding through his hair, above the incision, and he wakes up like that and starts breathing as soon as he sees her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He says, "Buffy," and she wants to kiss him. "What happened?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She wants it so bad it makes her sick.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We should get back home," Buffy says. She smiles encouragingly. "I'll tell you on the way."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When he finds her in that abandoned house, he gets down on his knees and tells her that he loves her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She almost says it back, but things she loves enough end up dead. Usually from something sharp she puts in their stomach.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe if she only thinks it, it won't come true.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And he holds her anyway. She thought maybe that's what the soul would make different—that he wouldn't hold her when she doesn't love him back. But his eyes are bright in the dark and he looks and looks at her, and it feels like the first time she's ever slept since she crawled awake out of her grave.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In the morning, they're opening the Hellmouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy knows where all the squeaky parts are on the basement steps, but she lets them creak under her weight anyway. She drags her fingertips along the banister, like she always does, maybe for the last time, and Spike is waiting for her across the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There must be something about her face, because he looks like he knows.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Always gonna be like this for us, innit?" he asks. "Running out of time."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy smiles sadly. "At least we've got all night."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike holds out his hand; she crosses the room and takes it. She thinks about the beach.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You sure you don't wanna just rest, love?" Spike asks, but he's tilting up her chin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm not that—" Buffy yawns in his face. "Tired."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Mhm." He reels her into a kiss. "I can see that."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy runs her hand up his bicep. "I'm gonna be all jittery otherwise. It's like a good-luck charm at this point."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike snorts. "Yeah. 'S what I am."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy pulls away, frowning at him. "Do you… really not wanna?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I always want you," he says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy says, "I'm sorry."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike furrows his eyebrows softly at her, cupping the side of her face. "Don't be. Buffy, these last few days—"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Not last," she says firmly, but blinking up at him hurts behind her eyes. "First."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike smiles, all gooey and warm, and she hates that it isn't different. She should be able to see his soul or something, but he just looks like himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Guess we'll need that good luck," he tells her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy kisses him again, her hands sliding up under his shirt. His stomach flexes a little and she digs her fingers into the muscle to make him jump—he laughs and bites her ear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They shed their clothes slowly, leaving a little trail to the bed. She sits with him there, down to her panties and socks, and tickles her toes up his calf while they kiss. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Buffy," he murmurs, his cool hand running up her thigh. "Remember what I said I wanted that first time?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy's heart pangs. "For me to want you back?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"... Well, yeah," Spike says, turning to nose against her cheek with a tiny laugh. "But now I sound like a wanker, 'cause I just meant eating you out."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh," Buffy says dizzily. She nudges her fingertips into his hair. "Um, you can have both."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike lays her back against the pillows and kisses down the side of her face. He takes his time moving down her body, stopping to suck on both of her nipples until they're all hard and shiny and she's trying not to whimper, and his teeth tickle at her ribs and make her giggle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By the time he bites gently at the inside of her thigh, she's breathing a little hard and thinking about killing him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What're you doing?" she asks impatiently.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike flicks his tongue over the place his canine stung a little; she squirms. "Doing it proper."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Dick," she says weakly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"On standby."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I hate you. Hurry up."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike mouths at her through her panties, dragging his teeth bluntly over her clit, and it makes her throb. God, he makes her want it so much it almost feels bad instead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And that's the thing, isn't it—about putting his face between her thighs like this. It's all about making her feel good, but. Keyword: </span>
  <em>
    <span>making. </span>
  </em>
  <span>While she lays on her back and trembles and makes these stupid noises from too high in her throat, and he's getting off on getting to do it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It gets all jumbled in her head. Everything they've ever done has been about power. She can't even just fuck him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You're supposed to take those off," she tells him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Am I?" he asks innocently, and finally pulls her panties down over her knees. "It's my first time."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh my God, shut </span>
  <em>
    <span>up,"</span>
  </em>
  <span> Buffy says, and to his credit—he definitely does.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike puts his mouth over her clit, first, and he licks her with these little baby kitten-licks that make her foot kick out, and she lifts her hips just enough to force his tongue down to her slit instead. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He takes the hint and slips inside her with broad, flat strokes, like he's licking her up. God, he probably is. She's dripping like he said he wanted and his nose is pressing hard into her clit because he can't fucking leave it alone. She closes her thighs and grinds down against him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike hardens his tongue a little and curls it upwards, and it's like she's fucking herself on it. He breathes out hard through his nose and then twitches a little when he realizes he can't breathe in again and, oh, God, Buffy feels the pleasure tingling all the way up her spine. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It leaves her mouth in a moan. She reaches for him and gets a hand in his hair and pulls.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Spike," she asks. He doesn't answer, the muscles of his back shifting while he works. "Spike."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy tugs him up by the hair, loosening the grip of her thighs a little so there's room for him to look up at her. He still doesn't say anything—just blinks slowly, like a sleepy cat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What made love better without a soul?" Buffy asks. She tries really hard to sound like she's not afraid of the answer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike swallows thickly, then clears his throat. His mouth is all bruised-shiny and his chin is dripping with spit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It was easier," he says. "Pure. Nothing else mattered. If I'd been on that tower with you, I would've pulled you off and let the sodding world burn."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy swallows too. "And now?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Well," says Spike. "Now I'd feel just awful about it."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shoves him back down to her cunt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He goes willingly, diving back inside her, and his hands slide up the backs of her thighs and close them around his ears again. He looks up at her, just for a second, and then his eyes flutter shut.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy's head drops down to the pillows; her back arches off the bed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It takes a little bit for her to build up again, but pretty soon she's close—her body goes all tingly and she gets restless, all this energy like curling somewhere even deeper than her belly, and she pants, "I'm close, I'm—"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike backs off a little, relaxing his tongue and not leaning into it so hard when she grinds her hips, and her orgasm skitters away like a scared cat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy whines a little before she can stop herself—and glares down at him murderously, because she </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows </span>
  </em>
  <span>he did it on purpose and he's still giving her just enough that it doesn't feel totally awful, like it's a favor or something, and the fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>bastard </span>
  </em>
  <span>opens his eyes just to wink at her when she squirms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'll kill you if you do that again," she says, and he drags his teeth gently over her clit. It makes her breath stutter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy flops back against the mattress and traps his head between her thighs, squeezing harder than she was before. Her one hand is still in his hair and she uses it for leverage so she can fuck herself on his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's like it lasts for hours. She hates that it feels like this. Like she's got jelly bones and she's about to start begging and he's gotta love her, to make her feel like this. Could she make him feel like this? There's a mess smeared all over her thighs and wetting the bed and she can't tell how much of it is his spit or her being so turned on, or what the difference is anymore, and it's humiliating. Her cheeks are burning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I hate you," she says desperately. "I fucking hate you, let me come, let me come, let me—"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike slips two fingers into her and crooks them until she bites down on the meat of her own palm and screams. She kicks him, hard—both heels driving at his shoulders and shoving him away from her, except she's keeping him there by the hair. She comes so hard it might happen twice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When she finally goes slack, it's mostly the only choice. She keeps her eyes closed and tries to make her breathing softer, but the aftershocks keep making her muscles twitch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The bed creaks a little when Spike crawls up her body and nuzzles against her cheek. He mumbles, "Still hate me?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Mm, yeah," Buffy says, and lets her head loll in the direction of his voice. "I can't feel my legs."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Cheers, love." Spike tries to kiss her, but he winces when her tongue parts his lips. His words come out a little muffled. "Uh, not sure I can open my jaw more'n this."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy giggles. She opens her eyes; their noses are nudged together and his eyes are all crinkled while he looks at her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You deserve it," she says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike just brushes his lips against her forehead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy drags her fingernails lightly up and down his back, drawing little patterns around his spine. He's still a little cold, but she doesn't mind so much. He hums, shifting his shoulders, and she slips her hand around to stroke his dick.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tucks his face against the side of her throat. His skin is so soft, here, and there's a drop of precome at the tip that she smears under her thumb.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Wanna fuck me?" she asks, like the answer could be anything besides the, "Yeah," he muffles into her neck.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy draws her wobbly knees up and guides him inside, biting softly at his shoulder. He sighs; it makes her heart hurt a little.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike rocks his hips slowly, so different than the other times. She moves with him, letting her feet slip further down the bed, and cards her fingers gently through his hair. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Buff," he murmurs. "Love you."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy closes her eyes and kisses the shell of his ear and tells herself to focus on how good it feels. How she still can't really tell where her toes are but she thinks they're curling. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But it hurts under that. If she uncurls her fingers too much her throat quivers like she's gonna cry.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Can I try something?" Spike asks. He pushes lightly at her shoulder like he wants her to turn over.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy's stomach twists a little, but she says, "Um, yeah," and lets him slip out of her so she can flip onto her belly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike drops a kiss to the nape of her neck. "Not all the way, love. Here."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He guides her onto her side instead and lays down behind her, so her back is pressed against his chest. One of his arms tucks under her neck and the other drapes over her waist, like they're spooning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy glances over her shoulder at him. "Like this?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah." Spike skims a hand down her thigh. "If you just move this leg a little…"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She adjusts her position, and then he's nudging against her entrance with nose tracing up the side of her neck. It takes a second for them to get the angle right, but then it's so easy. Buffy presses her lips together and leans back into his body, and he holds her so tightly, like he's scared she'll go away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She's never fucked in this position before. It feels like the wrong word for it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There's not as much leverage like this; it'd be hard to make it rough. He probably still could, if he put a hand to her throat. That's how she'd do it, if she were him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Spike has one hand splayed over her belly and the other massaging gently at her breast, a thumb circling her nipple, and he's moving inside her like he just fits there. Buffy's breaths come deep and even, except for how she's shaking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And it's taking so much time, but not like they've got enough of it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not like the rest of their lives are about to happen. Like putting off goodbye.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy wants to hit him. Or she wants him to bite her neck, or pull her hair too hard, or do something he'll have to apologize for later. But there won't be any time for that tomorrow. They've gotta do it right.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Spike," she says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His hand slips off her stomach; he rubs two fingers against her clit. "Buffy."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She turns her head, but it's too hard to look at him. Their faces are smushed together, kinda like they're trying to kiss except she doesn't wanna hurt his jaw by making him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And it feels so good, but not like it's almost bad. Just like it's good, and she's gonna come, and he's gonna follow her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Close," he asks, or maybe he's telling her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah," she says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike moans softly and tightens his arms around her and she wriggles, getting that last bit of friction she needs, jerking against his hand and his dick hitting the right spot inside her and because if she's moving she can tell he's still there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He's still there, his lips pressed drowsily to the back of her neck and his forehead brushing the edge of her jaw, when it's over.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy sinks a little lower so her cheek is propped up on his bicep. He's going soft inside her and his body is starting to slump, but she can tell he's awake because he's still breathing steadily against her back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Spike," she whispers, reaching down to take his hand in hers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tangles their fingers together lazily. "Yeah?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We should get up."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah," he mumbles, even less awake-sounding than the first time, and grabs the blanket they kicked off the bed and throws it over them both.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy closes her eyes and hopes she falls asleep first.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Saying the grief is overwhelming would be a lie.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She mourns him, obviously—and the Potentials who died. But she's put Angel in hell and her mom in the ground, and Spike wouldn't want it to break her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They've gotta drive an hour and a half to find a mall he didn't take down with him. She walks with Willow and Xander and they stare at clothes they can't afford because their wallets are at the bottom of a crater. Giles lends them his credit card and they go thrifting instead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She finds his lighter in her pocket. He must've put it there before—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pretty much everyone votes for Europe afterwards—except for Faith and Robin, who take the school bus and road trip to Cleveland. But the rest of them take up most of the little Sunnydale Airport plane and probably scare the flight crew with the sounds their checked bags make—they've got more weapons than anything else.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anya, Tara, and Andrew end up in Rome, which hurts Buffy's brain to think about. She and Dawn spend the summer travelling all over and then wind up in Scotland, because there's a fucking castle and, well. That's pretty much what does it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy's sitting on the couch in one of their hangout rooms—a really obnoxious parody of the original Sunnydale High School student lounge—flicking the lighter open and shut with one hand. Xander took most of the trainees out to spar on the grounds, so she's pretty much alone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dawn flops down on the opposite end of the couch and kicks her feet up in Buffy's lap. Her eyes land on the lighter before Buffy can put it away. "Oh. Was that… you know?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah," Buffy says. She flicks it open again and strikes the flint. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Do you miss him?" Dawn asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy lets the flame die out. "Sometimes. It's getting easier, though."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I miss him, too," Dawn tells her. Then she hesitates. "Um, I guess it's probably different for you though, huh?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy glances up at her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm not stupid," Dawn says, which, annoying as she still is and always will be on principle, she has kinda proven. "You guys were together and stuff, weren't you? You just didn't wanna tell me."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I guess." Buffy looks down at the lighter again, tracing her thumb over the long edge. "Maybe if we'd had more time."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They wasted a lot of it. Or—maybe it was just her. But it's not like there's any harm in blaming him; he's dead. That's the rule: if you go and die like a stupid, heroic asshole, the other person gets to blame you for whatever she fucking wants.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Um, I came in here 'cause Andrew's on the phone?" Dawn tells her. "I guess he just got back from that thing in LA and he only wants to talk to you. But I can tell him to call back, if…"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No, that's okay." Buffy smiles at her. "I'll come get it."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Of </span>
  <em>
    <span>course </span>
  </em>
  <span>Andrew tells her that Spike's alive. Like, seriously—in what universe would that have ever worked? Andrew can only keep a secret if Buffy threatens to kill him, and even then it's still fifty-fifty. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She gives him a week to see if he'll call on his own, anyway, because any time she tries to pick up a phone it does this weird thing where it cracks into a bunch of tiny pieces in her hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her heart hurt less when he was dead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Why didn't he call her? Why didn't he get on a fucking plane? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She couldn't even make him believe she loved him, in the end. Maybe that's why he's not calling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy locks the door to her room and turns the cordless phone over in her hands, which can hold it again. The trick is to be sad instead of so angry she imagines the phone is his stupid face she thought she'd never see again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She has to call Angel's line first, where </span>
  <em>
    <span>Harmony </span>
  </em>
  <span>of all people answers and, after the most annoying fifty seconds of Buffy's life, finally hands over Spike's cell number.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There's an answer after the first ring.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm not joining the sodding bowling league," says the grumpy British voice on the other end. "And I'd unblock your bloody number if you stopped </span>
  <em>
    <span>asking, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and if you </span>
  <em>
    <span>don't </span>
  </em>
  <span>stop asking, I'll rip your Jolly Green Head off and use it to top my fucking Christmas tree."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's really him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy starts laughing so hard tears start streaming down her face and her ribs feel like they're gonna crack. It hurts. He's alive. It all hurts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Hello? Who's there?" Spike asks. "Lorne, if you're taking the piss—"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm—sorry," Buffy tells him, and she means: </span>
  <em>
    <span>for everything. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She laughs again. "You'd just—look really good—in bowling shoes."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's quiet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike asks, "Slayer?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy swallows down another laugh, but her voice still shakes like it. "You've gotta be more specific these days, remember?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Buffy," he says. Like he always says it. "God, Buffy, I didn't—I'm sorry. I didn't know how."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What the fuck is she supposed to say to that?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The lighter is on her nightstand. She almost threw it out when Andrew told her. She's glad she didn't, but looking at it makes her feel like she's seventeen, waking up alone in Angel's bed. It makes all of her stupid, easy anger burn up and leaves her with nothing besides wanting him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She can't even hate him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I wanted to call you," Spike says. "There's just so much to say, and I was afraid—"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It doesn't matter," Buffy says, the lie slipping out of her mouth before she can stop it. Her bottom lip is trembling and it tastes like salt. "There's, um. There's no time."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hesitates. "What do you mean?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She closes her eyes. More tears squeeze out and roll down her cheeks. He always believes her when it's like this. "Um, you know, just the usual. I wanted to—'cause, um, I don't know what's gonna—"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Where are you?" Spike asks worriedly. "Buff, I can get on a plane. I can mount up a bloody army the way they pay us here."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe she can hate him a little. He's still hurting her, after all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No, um, it's okay." She takes a deep breath. "I think we can—we'll be okay. There's a lotta us now. But I just needed…"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"A little luck?" Spike asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Please?" she asks, and purses her lips together so hard her teeth press in. She sniffles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike asks, "... What're you wearing?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She chokes out a laugh. "Shut up! I changed my mind!"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Just trying to get you in the mood, pet," Spike coaxes. "Work with me here."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy looks down at herself, blinking to clear her vision. "Um, a white blouse? It's like, kinda lacey and ruffle-y."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I love you in white," Spike tells her lowly. "Take it off for us, will you?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy bites her bottom lip and switches him to speakerphone. She pulls the blouse up over her head and says, "Okay."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What's underneath?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She blushes. "Um, it's, like, this red and lacey push-up bra."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Not under white, it's not."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest even though he can't see her. "Ugh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It's ugly and tan and there's a little bow on it, are you all turned on now?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah, baby," Spike teases. "Gets me so hot for it when you're cross with me."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm taking it off," Buffy tells him, and reaches behind her back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Pretend it's me," he says. "I'm kissing your neck while I take it off you. Touching your tits."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She closes her eyes again and imagines it. Remembers it, which is worse or better. Her stomach clenches up in anticipation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What're you wearing?" she asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What do you want me to be wearing?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy leans back against the pillows. "That's cheating."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Just wanna make it good for you, baby," he says, and it makes her shoulders shake like she's about to cry again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You're in that black shirt you used to always wear," she tells him. Her hands sliding up his ribs. "But I'm taking it off you."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Where are we?" he asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"My bed," Buffy says, and feels like an idiot. "Back in Sunnydale."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike teases, "Will the honorable Mr. Gordo be joining us?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She makes a sound she hopes passes for a laugh. "He's under the pillow."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Best protect his virtue," says Spike. "Not that much left of ours."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Maybe there is," Buffy ventures. She scrunches up her nose nervously and holds her breath. "Um, maybe…"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Is it your first time, pet?" Spike asks, curious but gently, like he's already pretending it's true.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy nods. Her face goes even redder when she realizes he can't see her, but—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Is it mine, too?" he asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No," she says. "You're… you."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike says, "Been a lot of people, love."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"The one who didn't feel bad about loving me," she says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"... Buffy."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her voice gets all choked-up. She tells him, "I just wanna pretend none of it had to happen. Can we pretend it didn't happen?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah," he promises, and it sounds like there's something wrong with him. Like he's crying too. "Yeah, baby, none of it happened. It's just me and you, alright? I'm laying you back against the pillows, pet."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy sinks deeper into them. Her pants feel too tight, but he hasn't taken them off her yet. She wishes she'd closed the curtains; the sun is warm on her face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'd kiss you so slow, Buffy," he tells her. "I'd make it so good."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I know," she answers. "I'd—I'd play with your hair. I love messing up your hair."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike asks, "Are you in trousers?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Blue jeans," she says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Will you touch yourself through 'em?" he asks softly. "Think about me rubbing on you, just real slow. Have we done that before?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy grinds her palm down, pressing the seam of her crotch into her clit. "Um, yeah. We've been—we've been getting carried away a lot, maybe."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Makes me so hot for it when you play with my hair," Spike says. "Easy to get lost in it, in you, but I've—I've been good, right? Buffy, tell me I've—"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You've been good," she tells him, and she has to press her other hand to her mouth to hide the sob. "You've been really good, Spike, and I told you I'm—I'm r-ready."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike says, "Buffy, God."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"How would you do it?" she asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"With my mouth, first," he tells her, and she whimpers and puts her hand down her pants and touches herself through her panties. "Real easy, no teeth or anything fancy. Just my tongue."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy admits, "I'd be so embarrassed."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No need, love." Spike's sigh crackles through the speaker. "You're amazing. So pretty down there it's like a gift. A man could die happy, tasting you."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Did he?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy sniffles again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"... I'm sorry, love," he says. "I didn't mean it like—"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Keep going," she says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We're getting ahead, though," Spike says. "I'd kiss every inch of you first. I'm talking full service, baby—insides of elbows. Kneecaps. Bottoms of your feet if you're not too ticklish."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She giggles. "I'd probably kick you in the nose."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'd love you anyway," Spike tells her. "How's that?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pretty much the only thing that matters. To this Buffy, anyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Are you touching yourself too?" she asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"In the fantasy, or really?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Really," she says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike says, "Not yet. 'M so hard it hurts."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You should." Buffy wiggles her hips against her hand. "I don't… want it to hurt you."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Not your usual line," Spike says, but his voice goes a little thinner, like maybe he's doing it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy asks, "What would you do next?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Once I got my mouth on you?" Spike asks. "I'd—I'd warm you up, get those nerves out. You'd be nervous, wouldn't you?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"A little," she says. She takes a breath. "You'd make it better."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'd have you melting, pet. Then I'd slip a finger in you, let you feel it like that." He breathes heavily into the phone. "Will you do that for me?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy rolls onto her belly and finally, </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally </span>
  </em>
  <span>tucks her hand under her panties. It's a tight fit under her jeans and the denim scrapes against her knuckles, but she trails her middle finger through the slick leaking out of her folds and nudges it inside.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah, I'm—</span>
  <em>
    <span>oh, </span>
  </em>
  <span>God." Her laugh turns into a moan. "Spike, I'm—I'm so wet."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I can feel you, baby," he says. "You get so wet for me. So good."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Would she be?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"And I'd make you come like that too," Spike tells her. "Have to hold you by the hip so you don't break the bed."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy curls her finger inside herself, rocking her hips against the bed. "Spike."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'd ask again," he says. "You sure you wanna, baby? We can wait."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm sure," she says. "I—I want you to."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike breathes into the phone again. "We'd do it in missionary, yeah? I'd wanna kiss you the whole time—Buffy, I'd do nothing but kiss you."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah?" she asks. "I'd—I'd want you to."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We'd go slow," he says. "Are you touching yourself slow?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy drags her teeth over her bottom lip. "Yeah. Are you?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah. Got myself all slicked up, too, like I'm in you." His voice is so warm. She hides her face in the pillow. "You'd be so wet for me, wouldn't take hardly anything, Buff. But I'd just stay there inside you, letting you feel me. Breathing how you breathe."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She feels so empty. She misses him so much. Another finger helps a little.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"And I'd tell you I love you," Spike says. "I'd say it over and over and, fuck, Buffy, I'm—I can't—"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He breaks off in a moan.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I know," she tells him. "I know, I'm there with you."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I love you," says Spike. "I was a fucking coward, Buffy. I still love you."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy pushes her fingers a little deeper. "Would you stay with me? All night?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You'd wake up with me holding you," he promises. "And I'd love you all over again. You'd look so pretty with the light coming through those curtains—you'd be a vision, love."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'd have bedhead and my eyes would be all puffy."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"And I'd love you."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy grinds down on her hand and moans a little. She's so close, and it's stupid because she's not even thinking about fucking him anymore. She's thinking about that bed in that room and Mr. Gordo not lost in the rubble, and him just kissing her nose when she wrinkles it at him because he's got morning breath. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Would you love me if I had morning breath?" she asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'll love you 'til we die and it sticks, baby. Beyond, if they let me. Doesn't matter what version we're in."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"But what if it's, like, really bad morning breath?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike laughs, and of course. Of course that's how she comes, with her eyes squeezed shut picturing him laughing. The first time they fucked the best part was when she threatened to kill him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Buffy?" Spike asks. "Did you?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah," she answers, and it makes her throat go weirdly tight. "Did you?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Little before you." He pauses. "Was it… good?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy's eyes are still closed. She squeezes them tighter. "It was. Was it… for you?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah," says Spike. He hesitates again, and she wipes her fingers off on the sheets. "I… you want me to stay on the line a while? I can stay."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy opens her eyes. She pushes up onto her forearms and then rolls over onto her back, blinking up at the ceiling. Tears well up in her eyes again and she thinks it'll keep happening, if she hears his voice again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I should go," she tells him. "I should—I should let you go. Um, 'cause I've gotta, um, like I said, with the saving the world and stuff."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah," he says. "But if it… if there's still a world next week?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What would they do with all that time? Look how awesomely she ruined it in what they had.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy wipes the tear stains off her cheeks. "Um, maybe. I guess."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Right. No, it's—that's alright. Uh, bye, Buffy."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The panic flares in her chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Spike?" Buffy asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe he already hung up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"... Yeah?" he answers. "I'm still here, love, what is it?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy fumbles blindly for the lighter. She smudges her fingerprints all over the shiny silver, and thinks about the beach and a tower and the sticky floors on a stolen RV and a loaded shotgun on her dying mother's back porch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm in Scotland," she says, and hangs up the phone.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It takes him less than a day to find her. He probably uses that stupid law firm to do it, but she can't even be that annoyed about that, because he's sitting on her bed when she gets back from leading mock patrol.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He's wearing all black, including the nail polish. His hair looks even whiter than she remembers it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stops just inside the doorway and stares.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Hi, Buffy," he says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You came," she answers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"End of the world, love?" Spike tells her, rising to his feet. "Nowhere else I'd rather be."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy laughs, pressing her knuckles to her mouth. She shifts to the side, away from the door but towards him. "Um, about that? I can explain—"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Doesn't matter, does it?" Spike asks. He smiles like it's the best thing he's ever said. "Long as it's you an' me."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"But it's just—"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh my God!" Dawn says. "Spike!"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He blinks at her in surprise, but then a grin is stretching across his face when she literally jumps at him from across the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Hey, nibblet," he says, resting his chin on top of her head and closing his eyes tightly. "You keep getting taller."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I knew you were back—I mean, Buffy said, but—" Dawn hugs him tighter. "I didn't believe it."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"In the flesh," says Spike. "After a slight delay. My advice? Goin' through walls is overrated."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dawn pulls away to look at him. "But why're you here now? Is something wrong?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy winces.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike's eyebrows furrow at Dawn, and then he glances over at Buffy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She purses her lips and looks back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Nothing's wrong," he realizes, and his eyes are shining like he's in awe of it. "I'm just here."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy's chest feels all tight and sticky, like when her lungs swell up they get stuck for a second. She says, "Dawn, get out of my room."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What?" Dawn whines. "I'm </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>not even doing any—oh."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy can feel her staring, but she doesn't take her eyes off Spike.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You know, I'd have somewhere else to be if I, like, had money to go get ice cream and stuff," Dawn says sweetly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike fishes a wallet out of his jacket and holds it out without blinking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Have fun!" Dawn tells them cheerfully, and closes the door behind her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It gets really quiet once her footsteps fade away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"So," says Spike. "Sorted that apocalypse out before lunch, did you?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy scrubs her hands over her face and keeps them there. "Oh my God, I'm the world's biggest jerk."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I've spent the last few months surrounded by lawyers who have opinions on satanic </span>
  <em>
    <span>golf,</span>
  </em>
  <span> pet," Spike tells her. "You're not even top ten. You wanna tell me why, though?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No," she mutters.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike says, "Buffy."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She peeks out from behind her fingers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Said I'd love you no matter what, didn't I?" Spike reminds her; he raises an eyebrow. "You think a booty call under false pretenses is gonna be the tipping point, after what we've been through?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"But that's it," Buffy says wetly. She takes her hands away from her face and wrings them together. "I didn't—it wasn't some booty call, Spike, it was—"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She glances up at the ceiling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I didn't know how else to say it," she tells him. "You were—you were </span>
  <em>
    <span>dying </span>
  </em>
  <span>and I couldn't even make you believe me, I mean, how sad is that?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She sniffles once and rubs at her cheeks. When she looks at him again, his eyes are wet too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike asks, "Will you try again?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She doesn't wanna. She'd pretty much rather die than fail at this again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I love you," Buffy says. "And the world's not going anywhere."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike says, "Neither am I," and strides across the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy cups his face in both her hands and rocks up onto her toes when they kiss. He scrunches up the back of her shirt in his grip. It's so fierce it hurts a little, but they're good at that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They pull clothes off each other as they drift towards the bed. One time, when they were young, Willow levitated those cute little white weeds with petals like daisies and plucked the petals off with magic one at a time and they played </span>
  <em>
    <span>Loves Me, Loves Me Not </span>
  </em>
  <span>in the grass about Oz. Or was it still Xander, back then? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This is like that, taking turns plucking the clothes off their bodies, except it just goes: </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes, yes, yes.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe Buffy drank too much coffee on patrol.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She tumbles with him down onto the bed—they roll over and over and almost off the other side, but she hooks her ankle against the bedpost and stops the momentum. He laughs, either at the trick or because that means he ended up on top, and immediately slinks down to nose between her thighs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh my God," Buffy says. "Um—"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She breaks off when he dives straight into licking her cunt—no teasing, no </span>
  <em>
    <span>just warming you up, pet. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Bam: tonguefucking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy moans softly, stretching out her spine with the sound, and half-heartedly warns, "I didn't even shave."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike looks up at her, plucks a pube off his tongue, and says, "I like it."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"Kill </span>
  </em>
  <span>me."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike rolls his eyes. "I've been alive a century and a half, pet. You think I haven't witnessed the full bloody gambit of pussy stylings?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy sticks out her bottom lip. "Then why do you look all annoyed?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"'Cause I'd rather be eating it."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What do you like about it?" Buffy asks. "Like… bushy?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Well," says Spike. "You smell."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy kicks him sharply in only slightly exaggerated outrage. "Oh my </span>
  <em>
    <span>God!"</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Ow! Bloody hell, watch the jaw." Spike rolls out of kicking range, one hand massaging the spot Buffy's heel connected. She glares at him the whole time it takes him to crawl back over and nose apologetically against her cheek. "I'm sorry, baby, it was a bad joke. I'm a bad man."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You're majorly the worst," Buffy agrees, crossing her arms over her chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Okay, so I said it to get a rise, but I do mean it—in a good way, pet, let's keep those feet where I can see 'em." Spike bites lightly at her earlobe and she tolerates him—only 'cause she probably owes him one for the whole faking the apocalypse thing. "You smell bloody incredible, Slayer. All sweat and sex down there, nestled in those pretty curls. Maybe it's a vamp thing, 'cause—"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He growls, a little to the left of human, and what's it say about her that she licks her lips and feels her pussy tighten up?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Probably she should be, like, over the vampire thing. As in, just accepting that there's a vampire thing, since getting </span>
  <em>
    <span>rid </span>
  </em>
  <span>of the vampire thing would probably mean fucking someone who doesn't get off on her BO, and that honestly seems like a lot of work in comparison.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm still mad at you," she tells him, though. "For, like, three things."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Okay," says Spike, and nibbles on her cartilage again. "I can only think of two. Help a bloke out, Slayer."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She side-eyes him, sort of. The angle's weird for it. "What do you think the two are?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike presses his forehead to her temple. "The pussy thing and the not-calling thing."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy swallows. "How about the dying thing?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh," he says. "Yeah, bloody ponce I was, sacrificing myself all noble-like to save the world. I mean, what kind of selfish prick would do that?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She rolls her eyes. "I guess if you put it like </span>
  <em>
    <span>that."</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike pushes up onto his forearm, looking down at her with a sudden intensity that would scare her, if he was someone else. Or if she was.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I was bloody furious at you, too," he tells her. "Fucking hated you for leaving. Never told you that at the time, on account of how you came back, but turnabout's fair play, I expect."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hated her so much he spent the summer protecting everything she'd died for. He didn't even need a soul.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At least she kept the lighter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Okay," Buffy says. "But the other stuff."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He smirks. "Maybe you better punish me, then."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy raises an eyebrow warily. "You'd </span>
  <em>
    <span>like </span>
  </em>
  <span>it."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Well, yeah," says Spike. "But so'd you."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy probably </span>
  <em>
    <span>could </span>
  </em>
  <span>argue with that, but, like, why bother?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Any ideas?" she asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"For starters?" Spike waggles his eyebrows. "You could tie me up, leave me at your mercy."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy's mouth goes a little dry. "Or not-mercy?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"'S the idea," says Spike.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy says, "Stay there," and pushes him flat on his back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yes, mistre—"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy rolls to her feet and wanders into her walk-in closet, where her weapons chest is front and center, for easy access. She still gets sad when she thinks about the one Xander made for her, lost to the crater formerly known as Sunnydale—but this one's hot pink, which is fun.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anyway, there's demon-grade rope in here. Not hot pink, which is a bummer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy hesitates, looking at the rope, and then tilts her head at her regrettably-growing collection of actual winter clothes. It's not like the point is to actually keep him tied up—they have a literal dungeon for that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ugh, she probably shouldn't mention the dungeon. He'll get all excited about it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy grabs two of her sturdier scarves out of the drawer and skips back into the bedroom, where Spike is sprawled invitingly where she left him. His body looks the same, except for a new scar or two—pretty and muscular like a cat, and mostly angles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy's mostly angles, too—narrow hips and ribs you can kinda see and boobs that are a little sharp with chest muscle. Dawn grew up and got soft after she got gangly, but Buffy just gets leaner and harder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike gives her that look, though, like he's gonna die just from getting to see her. So like, okay.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"God, Buffy," he tells her. "Can't believe I get to look at you."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her cheeks are probably bright pink. She says, "Shut up," and also, "you're not getting out of it now."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Why'd I wanna?" he asks. His eyes finally drop to the fabric in her hands. "No rope, Slayer?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy jumps onto the bed, hard enough to bounce him a little and make the whole thing squeak. "I wanted it to be pretty."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He makes that scrunched-up gooey face. She grabs his wrist and knots one end of the first scarf around it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A nifty plus side of the whole vampire thing is that Buffy doesn't have to worry about stuff like circulation or, like, if his hands are gonna go numb and fall off. She stretches his arm above his head to the point it looks comfortable, and then a little farther after that, and does the second knot.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There's maybe like a palm and a half's worth of slack in the scarf—he can twist his wrist and grab onto the fabric for something to hold, which he does while she does his other hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike tugs on the restraints and says, "You know I could break these."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So could a human, maybe, since she's not tying his feet. It leaves him a lot of leverage.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"That's not the point," she says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He actually pouts a little, which—ugh, is it that obnoxious when </span>
  <em>
    <span>she </span>
  </em>
  <span>does it?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We can go shopping this week," Buffy tells him. "If Dawn hasn't maxed out your credit card."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Angel's credit card," says Spike.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy rolls her eyes. Then goes kinda freeze-framey when she realizes what she'd said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Um." She pretends she's re-checking her knots. "If you're staying, I guess?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Depends on how good you tied me."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She glares at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike quirks his lips and says, "Yeah, Buff. 'Course I'm staying."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy cups the side of his face the smile isn't on and strokes her thumb over his cheek. Then she tilts his head back and straddles his face—it forces his arms further apart so there's room for her, and the headboard makes an unhappy sound already.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike wets his lips in anticipation. His pupils go a little wider.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy grips the headboard, and he's licking into her before she's even lowered herself all the way down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He whines a little. His hands tug at the bindings, reaching for her, and he arches his back like he's trying to press up into her cunt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy gasps and clenches her thighs, grinding against his mouth. She's smearing herself all over him, burying his nose in her hair, and it makes her throat tingle. It makes the headboard creak when she digs her fingers in and she's not sure which one of them is gonna break it first.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She really wants to find out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His body is all twitchy, kind of erratic. One of the scarves is silk and his hand keeps slipping against it, the glossy nail polish popping against the light green fabric. When she looks behind her, his chest is struggling to swell.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy bows her head, stuttering through an exhale. "Can you breathe?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>More scrabbling against the ties. He makes this cute little weak sound from high in his throat and his eyes are pleading up at her, except he can't get rid of the hunger underneath. And she saw how hard he was—leaking onto his stomach.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy says, "Keep trying."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes flutter shut.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He's got such pretty eyelashes. It'd be kinda unfair, maybe, except that she likes them so much that she doesn't mind. And she wants to kiss his eyelids, which is stupid, 'cause she's a little busy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy lets go of the headboard and grabs his hands instead—she laces their fingers together, pressing him back against the wood. It groans; it probably hurts his knuckles, but he tightens his grip so much it hurts her too and she laughs breathlessly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It feels so good. She wants more—takes it, feeling the muscles of her back straining when she puts them into fucking his mouth. If she had a dick she'd be choking him on it, but she's smothering him instead. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She's so close—just a little—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike writhes underneath her and tilts his head up just enough to use his teeth, and Buffy jerks her hips and comes, which makes the teeth thing a little rougher than he was probably trying to and just makes her come harder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>God, she has this—this </span>
  <em>
    <span>body. </span>
  </em>
  <span>That's so good at pain that it keeps turning it into other stuff—power, sex. And maybe it makes her a little wrong, or it's the demon they used to to make her, but...</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She's got another body underneath her just like it. So maybe it's not all that bad.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy pulls away from his mouth and untangles her hands from his, shifting back so her knees are braced on either side of his ribs and her fingertips tickle down his arms when she bows over. Their noses are almost touching; her hair is falling in his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike sucks in a shaky breath. He lifts his head, reaching for her, and she smiles giddily when she sits up and leaves him reaching.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"God, Buffy," he says, breathing out on it. He's watching her drift down his body, shivering under her hands, until she's straddling his hips with his dick trapped between their bodies. "It's so much worse like this."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy asks, "How?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Having to hold back," Spike says. "Knowing I could—" the headboard groans again. "Buffy, all I wanna do is touch you."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She slides a hand up his torso, pressing the heel of her palm into his sternum. "You are touching me."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No," says Spike. "You're touching me."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy tilts her head and innocently asks, "So the punishment's working, then?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike </span>
  <em>
    <span>growls </span>
  </em>
  <span>at her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She bats her eyelashes and pinches hard on his nipple.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hisses, his shoulders spasming, and she can see from the way his forearms are straining that he really is holding himself back—jerking against the ties but not too much. Can't be in control, can't let go.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She'd almost feel guilty or something, but…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I like this," she tells him, tugging and pinching his nipple until it's red and hard. Every time she hurts him, his hips jerk and she feels his dick slipping against her cunt. "You're cuter when you're all squirmy."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Buffy," Spike says. </span>
  <em>
    <span>"Please."</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy switches to the other side. She starts soft this time, though, because she wants to see what it'll do to him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And it's even better, because his eyes get all big and scared about it, and his breath stutters when she strokes his thumb over his nipple and then digs her nail in just a teeny tiny bit before she goes back to rubbing gentle circles around it like he'd tease her clit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He'd let her do this for hours. He'd let her do anything.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"How'd you have 'em pierced?" Buffy asks. She's getting impatient; she rolls his nipple between two fingers. "Were they pretty?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Mostly with rings." Spike has his fingers twisted up in the ties, pretty fabric wrapped around his knuckles. "Dru liked to put her teeth in 'em and—"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy bites down on the tender side and tugs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike jolts; a little precome spurts onto his stomach, just visible between her thighs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah," he says weakly. "Like that."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She smiles and grinds her hips, letting herself moan, exposing the column of her throat. She remembers, a long time ago: </span>
  <em>
    <span>look at my poor little neck. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Fuck, Buffy, I'll do anything," Spike pleads. "Just let me touch you, baby, I'll make it so good. I'd do anything to touch you, Buffy, it's been so long. My God, love, I've missed you, just let me, just let me, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please, </span>
  </em>
  <span>I need—"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy sits back and folds her hands neatly in front of her stomach; the only place they touch is where she's resting her weight near his hips, but she's not giving him real friction there, either.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She says, "Come get me."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike cuts off mid-babble, looking dazed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You want me so bad?" Buffy challenges, and she rubs against him a little, just to remind him how wet she is. "Prove it."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike hesitates for one, long moment while it sinks in, and then he's in vamp face and the headboard is in pieces.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy yelps in surprised almost-laughter when he tackles her; they wrestle on the bed and God it feels good to not hold back, her muscles going tingly with effort while she fights for the advantage. Fucking him like she'd try to kill him. His fangs snapping inches from her face and her hand pushing on his throat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She lets him pin her, her head hanging just a little off the bed, and he grins at her with all his teeth for one second before he gets it: the headboard was made of wood and he's only got her by one wrist.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The stake she grabbed is long enough that she's gotta hold it at an angle to make sure it doesn't really go through him. The splintered wood is pricking at both their hearts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stares at her, his eyes still all golden and inhuman but the pupils going a little bigger like a cat's, and cups her cheek so gently in one hand that it makes her throat tremble.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Buffy?" someone shouts, and there's the sound of a troop of wannabe killers rushing down the hallway. "Are you okay?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy raises her voice and says, "I'm fine! Don’t come in!"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We heard screaming!" says one of the other girls. "And, like, furniture breaking."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy smiles at him. "It's just Spike."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He smiles at her too, and brushes his thumb over her cheek.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh," says one voice, apparently getting the picture, at the same time one of the younger ones says, "Oh my God, </span>
  <em>
    <span>ew."</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He laughs softly, which is so weird, with the game face. She wants to make him do it again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"... Okay," the first girl says—maybe that's Waverly. "Bye?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The footsteps all go away again, and then they're just alone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Buffy breathes, it pushes the point of the wood deeper into her chest; she thinks it might draw a teeny pinprick of blood, because his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Tell me why you can't do it," he says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She could, if she had to, and he knows that. He probably loves her for it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy smiles, pursing her lips around it, and the words come out a little choked-up. "I love you, Spike."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Slowly, he reaches for her hand. His fingers fold over the back of her palm; he guides the stake away and she opens her fingers and lets it roll to the floor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Why can't you?" Buffy asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike ducks down and presses his fangs against her throat instead—just the barest amount of pressure, enough to make her toes curl and for him to say: </span>
  <em>
    <span>I could, too. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he's lying, and she knows it, and she thinks she might hate him for it. So much that she fists her hand in his hand and calls his bluff, and he almost doesn't get out of vamp face fast enough—there's a little blood, and the gasp of dirty pleasure bobbing her throat, and it's his human teeth that sink into her neck.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Fuck," Buffy moans, arching her back into him, holding him closer. "Spike."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He bites down harder and sucks hard enough on her stinging skin to leave behind a hickey, his tongue swirling over the bruise. She shifts her hips and he ruts against her, his dick slipping against her cunt, and if she just got the angle right she could get him inside her. She could finally have him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"C'mon," she says, and he kisses up her jaw and slips his tongue into her mouth. His hand cups the back of her head, pulling her away from the edge of the mattress. "Spike—just—"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She reaches down and does it herself, lining him up, and on his next thrust he slides inside her so smoothly she almost cries with relief.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"God, Slayer," he murmurs, and she scrapes her fingernails down his back. "'S like you were made for me. So tight it's like a dream. 'S like coming home."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She feels it. It's so stupid, but she feels it too. If he'd said that shit to her in the Winnebago it would've pissed her the fuck off, or been so hot in that gross, humiliated way that she would've had to hurt him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he's home. Not because he's fucking her so good that she can't feel her toes, or because Scotland's so special or anything. He's here, kissing her and loving her even when she's been stupid and cruel and locked herself up where he couldn't get her, and okay, yeah: it's a little bit how he's fucking her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He's moving in her, getting covered in her and warm like her, and it's, like—she gets why they call it </span>
  <em>
    <span>making </span>
  </em>
  <span>something. Not just love, but. She likes that he can make her feel this, and she can make him, and his mouth tastes like her pussy and just a little bit like her blood.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy takes them both down to the floor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They hit it pretty hard and roll with the impact a couple times, 'til they bump the closest wall and she has him underneath her again. He grins up at her, all lazy and happy like he just woke up from a nap instead of got some bruises on his ass.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy grins back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike sits up and rotates a little, so he's leaning his shoulders back against the wall and his legs are spread invitingly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy takes the hint and settles in his lap, taking him back into her with a happy sigh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His hands grip her hips; she cups his face in one hand and drapes the other arm around his neck when she starts to move.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike leans into the touch, kissing the edge of her palm, and she gives him her mouth again instead. Her teeth tugging at his bottom lip, their foreheads pressing together when she gasps for air. He slides a hand up her back and tangles it in her hair and pulls.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Fuck," she breathes. "God, do that harder."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Love you," he murmurs, and does.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy feels her thighs shaking, the heat curling low in her belly. She rides him slower, drawing it out. What's the rush?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He kisses down to her neck again, dragging his teeth over the place he left a mark. She makes one of those needy sounds and digs her fingers into the underside of his collarbone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Are you close?" she asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Can be," he says. "Might need a little more."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy brings a hand down to his nipple and pinches it gently—a lot nicer than she was being before, but it probably still stings a little. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Does that help?" she asks sweetly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There's a little rumble in his throat, somewhere between a growl and a laugh. He bites higher on her throat and uses the hand in her hair to pull her closer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy falls into him, clutching at his shoulders where they meet the wall. She fucks him harder, their bodies rocking together with her breasts brushing against his chest when she moves. He keeps slipping lower, so he's more beneath her than holding her in his lap, and she kisses him down and down until they're on the floor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Buffy," he murmurs. His voice has a raspy edge to it. "Buffy, God."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She pulls him on top of her, her head thunking gently against the stone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike blinks down at her and, the expression melting across his face, smiles when he kisses her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her hair's all spread out around her. She's half on her rug and half on the bare floor, and she wraps a leg around his waist to draw him in deeper again. She gets to put her hands in his hair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He just kisses her. His dick is lighting her up like those Christmas lights that blink in a line, all down her spine and behind her eyes, and his hands are brushing the hair from her face and squeezing her thigh when he hitches her leg higher and cupping her breast. And he just kisses her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy comes like that. She forgets to tell him, because her tongue is busy just barely slipping into his mouth when her head tilts back and the moan stutters its way out, but she thinks he probably gets the picture from the way her fingernails rake down his back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike fucks her through it and follows—he goes so still that he shakes, his breathing going all erratic, and presses a half-kiss to the corner of her mouth that's so sweet and hot that she wants to bite his tongue.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then he slumps against her, going pretty much deadweight, and his hipbone digs into her thigh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy breathes out a whuff of air and cards her fingers through his hair. She kisses the tip of his ear and then hides her face there, squeezing her eyes shut and holding him close.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike hums like he's about to fall asleep.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The peaceful thing works for her for maybe two minutes, and then Buffy pushes impatiently at his chest to get him up. "Okay, let's go."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Mm?" Spike whines. "Nowhere."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yes where," Buffy says, and pushes him upright. He wobbles, pouting at her with betrayal, and she grabs him so he doesn't flop over the other way. Drama queen. "C'mon, I'm serious."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike wraps his arms around her waist and tugs her into his lap. Her thighs are all sticky and she definitely smears it all over him, but serves him right.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"But I've got afterglow, baby," he mutters, nuzzling her neck. "We never get t'have afterglow."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy nuzzles him back, but says, "We can be all afterglow-y later. I wanna give you the tour before sunrise."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"The tour, huh?" Spike teases, and his fingers skim up the inside of her thigh and tickle at her bush. "Think I got a pretty good lay of the land."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I mean it," Buffy says, pouting. "I wanna show you."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike turns a little more serious, even if his expression is still majorly dopey. "Why's that?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Well, firstly 'cause I </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>need to clean up," Buffy says, glancing down at the mess between her legs, and then all of a sudden she's already gotta say the actual thing. "Um, and because—" she looks up at him, biting her lip. "Then it's like, really real. Like, no take-backs."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What part of this would I possibly wanna take back, love?" Spike asks, brushing her hair away from her face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You wouldn't," Buffy tells him. "But you might think that I wanna. Which I totally don't, but—I just don't wanna let you think—"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Bloody hell, Slayer," says Spike, furrowing his eyebrows and smiling all sweetly. "Are you ever gonna stand still?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy blinks at him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everything Buffy's done since she was fifteen has been about what happens next. The next demon, the next apocalypse. Someone's death for someone else's life. And maybe it would all stop, and nothing would be next at all, and maybe it was enough or maybe you wasted it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's not like that now. The castle's gonna be there in the morning, and more of the girls will be awake. Xander and Dawn will be home, and Willow keeps saying she's gonna visit, so maybe that'll be soon. She could take the whole day off if she wanted to. She could have a week. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buffy smiles tentatively; she brushes her knuckles across his cheek and smiles wider when he leans into them, gazing up at her, and if he just looked at her like that forever, she thinks things would turn out pretty good.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I guess we've got time, huh?" Buffy asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spike wraps his fingers around her wrist and presses his lips to the little flutter of her pulse. "Enough to waste."</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>More nonsense is sure to follow! To stay posted, find me <a href="https://yoursummerfrost.tumblr.com/">on Tumblr!</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>